Free Red Meat Cures Cancer by Starbuck O'Dwyer

racket.
    “Ms. Meaney.”
    “Call me Muffet.”
    “Okay. Then call me Sky.”
    “All right.”
    “Muffet, I’m not going to hedge. From what I understand, you are currently considering a class action lawsuit, in conjunction with the various state attorneys general, against Tailburger and our fellow competitors.”
    “We’re not considering it, Sky. We’re doing it. And don’t ask me why, because you know damn well why.”
    “I
don’t
know why. Please. Enlighten me.”
    I shifted uncomfortably in my seat and prepared for her verbal assault.
    “Do you have any idea how many people die every year from heart attacks in this country?”
    “I know it’s a fair number. All those poor smokers.”
    “It’s not just the smokers, Sky. It’s the hardworking men and women who shovel one fried Tailburger after another down their throats until their cholesterol levels cause coronary meltdowns. Then the U.S. government and its citizens pay to nurse the survivors back to health through the various Medicare and Medicaid programs. It’s time companies like Tailburger pay their fair share.”
    “Medicare and Medicaid are for the old and the destitute.”
    “Who do you think eats your burgers?”
    “Can we come back from la la land for a second here? First of all, there is no scientific evidence that links beef to heart disease. Second, study after study shows that lean red meat is a nutritionally valuable part of any healthy diet.”
    “That’s right.
Lean
red meat. Those studies don’t say anything about deep-fried fatty pieces of cow carcass with five spoonfuls of mayonnaise on them. Do you have any idea how many grams of fat are in a Tailpipe Deluxe?”
    “I honestly don’t.”
    “Well, let me tell you. A hundred and twenty-four grams. And that’s just the burger. Add a serving of your Enormofries and the total goes to nearly two hundred and forty-five grams of fat, most of it saturated. That’s four days’ worth of the recommended daily allowance for fat intake. And you want to sit there and tell me that your products are not causing heart disease?”
    “What about our low-calorie option, the Halfpipe?”
    “For your information, the Halfpipe is a deceptively named product. It’s got ninety percent of the fat of the Tailpipe and seventy-five percent of the calories. Not what you’d call a heart-smart choice.”
    “Well,
hell,
we put a seaweed burger on the menu two years ago and I think we sold forty-three of them across the country. We’re just giving people what they want. Is that a crime? I can’t think of anything that doesn’t cause ticker trouble. You can’t hold us liable.”
    “Oh, yes we can. And we will.”
    Muffet Meaney was, in my son Ethan’s vernacular, a hottie. About five feet four inches tall with a 36C chest, she had curves in all the right places and a face that reminded me of a young Marlo Thomas. Here I was trying to be a hard-ass negotiator and all I could think about was getting intimate with her. “Get a grip,” I told myself as she rambled on about quadruple bypass surgery and artery blockages. There was sure as hell no problem with my blood flow. I was toast.
    “What about settlement negotiations?” I asked.
    “We’ll listen to any serious settlement offer that’s made.”
    “What kind of dollars are we talking?”
    “The kind of dollars that Tailburger can’t even come close to putting on the table. You’re just a tadpole in this deal. We’re going after the big fish. Once McDonald’s and Burger King come to the table, we’ll let you know what your share is going to be.”
    “So what you’re saying is that all we can do right now is to sit on the sideline and wait.”
    “Basically.”
    “What if we wanted to cut our own deal and get out early?”
    “You’d have to come up with something pretty attractive, but I’d be willing to listen.”
    Now I had met the real enemy and it wasn’t Muffet—it was me. All of our arguing had created some bizarre sexual